


Broken

by Potix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abominable bride references, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Music, Miscarriage, One Shot, Prompt Fill, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-09 23:52:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potix/pseuds/Potix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlolly one-shots inspired by songs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

**Just a little one-shot inspired by Depeche Mode's song " Broken ", written by my dear Dave Gahan with Kurt Uenala . Go and listen to it, I really recommend it .**

_"When you're falling_   
_I will catch you_   
_You don't have to fall that far_   
_You can make it_   
_I will be there_   
_You were broken from the start"_

****

* * *

Molly Hooper could _see_  him from the beginning . The slight , imperceptible twitch on his upper lip every time Anderson , Donovan or some other idiot called him freak . The frustration that came out from every puff leaving his nostrils when his older brother was annoying him . The fact that his smiles were usually charming, but didn't reach his eyes , like it was imprinted in his mind that only manipulation, and not true kindness, could make him obtain what he wanted. The genuine distress he could not hide when he felt that he was disappointing Jhn with his rudeness .

Molly felt from the beginning that despite his efforts, Sherlock Holmes was not unmarred. His soul was full of cracks and rifts , and that they were there from along time, before Moriarty and the first appearance of doubt in his life . But now , while she was cleaning the cuts on his lips, and redressing his broken ribs , she was seeing for the first time a completely broken man . A man without hope, stripped of his reputation, devoid of any confidence in the future .

In that moment, when she cleaned the traces of tears and dirt on his cheekbones, she took an oath. She swore that her mission in life would be showing to Sherlock Holmes, the broken man sitting on his couch , the man she loved, that he could be whole again; that every crack, old and new , could be mended . By her love, for the moment ; by John's trust , by Mrs Hudson's motherly affection , by Lestrade's admiration for his work, when he would come back, stronger than before.

Sherlock Holmes had fallen , but Molly Hooper had caught him just in time.

 

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	2. Don't go away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little one-shot inspired by an old Oasis song, "Don't go away", written by one of my favourite songwriter, Mr Noel Gallagher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

_Damn my situation and the games I have to play,_   
_With all the things caught in my mind,_   
_Damn my education I can't find the words to say,_   
_With all the things caught in my mind,_   
_I don't wanna be there when your, coming down,_   
_I don't wanna be there when you hit the ground,_

_So don't go away,_   
_Say what you say,_   
_Say that you'll stay,_   
_Forever and a day,_   
_In the time of my life,_   
_Cos I need more time,_   
_Yes I need more time just to make things right._

**"Don't go away"- Oasis**

 

* * *

 

Molly Hooper was unquestionably in love with Sherlock Holmes. None could imagine the great effort it took to accept to help the man you loved desperately to kill himself. Yes, he was faking his suicide, but there was still an awfully long list of things that could go wrong, beginning with the lunatic she had previously dated (only three dates, but she couldn't help to think that it was her fault that Moriarty had gained so much information about Sherlock, information that he used to threaten poor John Watson, and to challenge the consulting detective) and that was waiting for Sherlock on the hospital's roof.

Sherlock was adamant that she remained in the hospital, near a window, to be sure that he landed on the van parked strategically on the street; so, she needed to see him fall. Her heart squeezed painfully the moment the saw his body approaching the pavement; she was not ashamed to admit that she threw up, out of the emotional stress and the fear, the fear that he was really dead, and that she could not save him.

* * *

Smuggling Sherlock's body from the morgue was not difficult,given the help Mycroft and his royal "men in black" offered. Hiding Sherlock in her flat for two days, planning for his departure to start dismantling Moriarty's organization, that was hard. Primarily because he was injured, yet he refused any strong medication, or to let his body (and his mind) rest; secondly, because she had fantasized about Sherlock being in her flat, but now Molly had actual memories of him sitting on her sofa (atrocious but comfortable, he said about it), or drinking from one of her glasses, or using her shower...and it was a paradox, but it was even worse. Because he was embarking in a solitary mission to destroy a criminal web, just two days after telling her that she counted, that he needed her...it was cruel.

When it was time for him to leave, she wanted to say to him only one thing. "Don't go away. Stay". Molly Hooper was too kind, too selfless (too coward, she thought of herself) to be able to ask him that. She simply told him "Take care, Sherlock", and he nodded, before brushing his lips against her forehead and closing the door behind him.

Collapsing against the wall, Molly cried. She had been involved in the game by the man she loved, and she didn't even know the rules. Maybe, there was only one important rule: the rule of her heart, beating for a dead man walking.

 

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	3. A pain that I'm uSed to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freewaygirl asked on Tumblr:"Sherlock and Molly are on the run together, Molly suffers from the memories of her last encounter with Moriarty (or Moran). Sherlock comforts her and tries to protect her". Inspired by "A pain that I'm used to" by Depeche Mode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. Martin Gore owns "A pain that I'm used to".I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

_I'm not sure what I'm looking for anymore_  
I just know that I'm harder to console  
I don't see who I'm trying to be instead of me  
But the key is a question of control

**"A pain that I'm used to"- Depeche Mode**

* * *

Sherlock could hear her tossing and turning in the bed. He could hear her weeping so softly, like she didn't want to disturb him. Like her tears were not important. How wrong was she.

He knew he had been selfish: dragging her away from her home, from her job, to help him in a mission that should be his, and his alone, wasn't fair. First, because he knew that she could not help it, that impulse to protect him, like her involvement in his "death" had already proved; and then, because it was dangerous. Too dangerous, like last night had showed him.

Moran had not hurt her, physically. Well, not like he had feared, the moment he saw the clues and understood that the Colonel had Molly. She had a few cuts, a large bruise on her left arm...the sign of his fingers still clear on her skin. He had done something more subtle: he had used his words, to make her suffer more deeply. Moriarty had been a good teacher: he knew exactly where to hit, to cause the deeper pain. Sherlock Holmes didn't need to ask her what Sebastian Moran told her: he could see it in her eyes, he could hear it in her sighs. He had only repeated to her what she already told to herself: that she was useless, disposable. That she din't really count.

After Moran left her, practically unharmed, and Mycroft's men rescued her and brought her back to him, the consulting detective decided that the best course was to let her elaborate everything alone. After all, it would be what he would do...what he had done every time.

A sob, a loud one, was the final straw to his resolve to leave her alone. Sherlock approached the door of her bedroom, and heard her whisper.

"Leave me alone. Please".

"No".

"I'm sorry if I woke you up, I will try to-"

"Stop it. No more apologies from you, Molly". He found the bed, and sat down. Then, he started to talk. He recounted to her his most important cases; he rattled off the muscles, the bones, the ligaments of the human body; he recited the periodic table. She let his voice lull her to sleep; like the sound of thunders, it helped to calm her down.

When he was sure she was safely asleep, he allowed himself to brush her forehead with his lips. "Alone doesn't protect you. I do, and I will never stop...never doubt it, Molly" he murmured, before deciding to lie down with her.

 

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	4. It doesn't matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. Martin Gore owns "A pain that I'm used to".I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, please forgive the mistakes and the typos

_**And oh what a feeling** _   
_**Inside of me** _   
_**It might last for an hour** _   
_**Wounds aren't healing** _   
_**Inside of me** _   
_**Though it feels good now** _   
_**I know it's only for now** _

**"It doesn't matter two" -Depeche Mode**

* * *

It didn't happen the first night he spent at her flat. Sherlock Holmes was a dead man, after all, and Molly Hooper was not a necrophiliac, despite the ugly gossip in the morgue.

And it didn't happen the first time he was forced to return to London; a Moriarty's associate had proved himself worthier than the others he had already destroyed, and he needed assistance from the only doctor he could trust at the moment. Mycroft disagreed, but in the end Sherlock Holmes spent a week in Molly's bed, driving her crazy with his silence and the worry about his wounds.

It happened the second time he came back. He didn't leave her the time to ask what was wrong, because his lips were already on hers, his hands untying her ponytail, and he was devouring her, engulfing her breath until they both were panting.

It was frantic, desperate, and unsatisfying (for her). Then she had led him to her bathroom, and prepared a bath for him. When he entered her bedroom, she was already under the sheets, clinging to them like the last wreck in the ocean after a storm.

He woke her up after a few hours, and that time, he made Molly come twice, before emptying himself in her womb. She didn't ask why, and he never told her that two days before, he had witnessed one of Mycroft's men kill a woman with chestnut hair, and warm brown eyes, and thin lips.

He never revealed to her that for a moment, in the lifeless face of a cruel spy, he had seen his most terrible nightmare.

**Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.**


	5. It doesn't matter - reprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is a continuation of the last one, because I felt it was not complete. Trigger warning: mention of miscarriage. If this sensitive subject bothers you, please feel free to skip this drabble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

_**If we should meet again** _   
_**Don't try to solve the puzzle** _   
_**Just lay down next to me** _   
_**And please don't move a muscle** _

**"It doesn't matter"- Depeche Mode"**

* * *

She didn't realize she was pregnant until the tenth week; her period had always been quite erratic, and she had not had a sexual partner for months...until that night with Sherlock. It had been Meena, who had joked about her frequent nausea and her complaints about the unusual tenderness of her breasts, to make her wonder if it could be another reason that a bug for her symptoms. A quick blood test and a visit to her gynecologist confirmed what she already suspected.

She was pregnant. She was expecting Sherlock Holmes' child, and she could not tell none.

She spent the first five weeks trying to avoid everyone she knew, in the vain hope none would notice: she remembered her mother telling her that after the first five moths, that her figure had not changed much, and she could only pray it would be the same for her. She spent her nights worrying about Sherlock would say, and do, after his return (because she was sure he would be back, it could not be otherwise), and dreaming of a cute girl, with her hair and his eyes, sleeping in her arms.

Until one evening, while she was stitching up poor Mr Saval, the bleeding started. She rushed upstairs to her doctor, and there her gynecologist could only state the obvious: miscarriage. She had a dilation and curettage the next day, and with that she buried all her anguish about Sherlock's reaction, and her fantasies about a child with bright, opal eyes and chestnut hair.

Six months later, Tom arrived in her life, and after a while, the IUD, and the engagement. And then Sherlock came back.

* * *

Thankfully, if he deduced something, he didn't tell her anything. And after all, they were too busy (with the terroristic threat to London, John and Mary's wedding) to be able, or simply to want, to breach the subject. For all Molly knew, Sherlock had probably deleted every particular about their intimate moments together. She wished to be able to do the same: instead, little fragments - a moan, a touch, an intake of his scent - continued to torment her mind, especially when he was alone in the same bedroom that had witnessed a night of sex and comfort.

Tom was already out of her life when the Magnussen case happened: Sherlock's relapse, his manipulation of Janine, made her question (not for the first time, unfortunately), what kind of man she had fallen in love with, and what kind of woman she was for continuing to love him.

And then, another dead man came back.

* * *

When Mycroft's agents let him enter Molly Hooper's flat, Sherlock Holmes knew he had to tell her the truth. That he had murdered a man (a vile, depraved, repugnant man), and that he had no idea how James Moriarty had escaped death to torture all of them again.

But that night, she had to tell him the truth, too: because a well aimed line from Mycroft, while he was about to board the plane("I'm sorry, but this time you are not allowed to say goodbye to your pathologist - we don't want to risk to leave another unfinished business behind, don't we?"), only confirmed what he had only suspected.

When he opened her bedroom, the lights outside enlightened her silhouette under the sheets, her back facing him. In the dark room, a plethora of questions crowded around his mind. For once, he ignored the puzzle; he laid down next to her, his curls on her pillow, his lips just a breath away from her nape. He let his fingers search for hers, and together, they placed their hands upon her abdomen. For the moment, it was enough, for both of them.

**Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams. And thanks to Flavialikestodraw, who is an irreplaceable first reader, and a precious companion on this Sherlolly' ship.**


	6. Mad world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

_**"And I find it kind of funny** _   
_**I find it kind of sad** _   
_**The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had"** _

**"Mad World"- Tears for fears**

* * *

 

He woke up in a sweat. The damp curls plastered on his forehead, the dry mouth...the sensation of estrangement. Another nightmare...They had returned with renewed vim, after Moriarty's return. Every time he tried to close his eyes, to let his manic mind rest, to regain energy, they were there. Images of his friends, wrapped in the consulting criminal's coils...begging him to save them, once again. Sherlock had lost count of the times his tormented dreams had shown him the lifeless faces of John, Mary, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson...Molly.

He exhaled a shaky breath at the recollection of the vision that had haunted his rest during the night: Moriarty's triumphant sneer, his teeth transforming in fangs while he hissed "You cannot save her, Sherlock dear...Not anymore! Your heart...I burnt it, finally!", over Molly's pale corpse.

If only he could dream of his own death! He hoped that at least his demise could protect the people he loved, and placate his nemesis' insanity...He would welcome that kind of dream with open arms, instead of those destructive hallucinations...

A tiny hand, with delicate yet calloused fingertips, brushed against his shoulder. "Sherlock, you alright?". Molly's voice was barely audible, but with her soft touch and her worried whisper had managed to calm him down almost instantly.

He turned to her, taking her petite frame in his arms. Her warm breath caressed his collarbone, and he could picture in his mind her comforted smile. She needed her sleep, he couldn't disturb her sleep. "Yes, everything is alright. Sleep, you know you both need your rest", he lied, touching lovingly her baby bump.

**Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams (not nightmares like Sherlock!).**


	7. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My take on Molly's possible reaction when she will discover about Sherlock's relapse...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

_"Through your failures and success_

_Through your losses and gains_

_I didn't see much happiness or pain_

_I couldn't save your soul_

_I couldn't even take you home_

_I couldn't fill that hole_

_Alone"_

**"Alone" - Depeche Mode**

* * *

"You may leave any time you like." Seven simple words. Heavy, like her disappointment; cutting, like the shame carving the heart he was not supposed to have. A part of him resented her bitterness. She should have known, what kind of man he was. She should have been prepared: weren't the insults, the harsh words, not enough? And after all, wasn't she the one who could see him, the real man behind the façade that was Sherlock Holmes?

He had lied to hear, mistreated her, for many years; she had not left his side once. Not even when he suggested that he was not the knight in the shining armour she wanted him to be.

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am - everything that I think I am - would you still want to help me?" She had not hesitated; she had put her career, her own life, in danger, without asking nothing else in return. Well, he believed that she had done it all unselfishly, at the moment; but after his return, he finally understood his mistake.

She wanted something in return; or, to put it better, she deserved something. Not his respect for her abilities as a pathologist; not his affection as a friend. No, she deserved more. She deserved his unconditional trust, and he had failed her.

"I've always trusted you", he said that night, before his "death", and then, when he could prove it to her, again, he decided to run towards the comforting shelter that drugs always provided, instead of asking for his friends' help. In her opinion, his actions showed her that she was not enough; all the times she had risked her job, her reputation, even her sanity, by staying by his side, counted less than narcotics.

She was wrong, of course. He was not an addicted, just a user. He knew when to stop, and yet… When the guilt, the desperation fell on his shoulders, drugs seemed to be the only possible solution.

The anger, the disappointment… They were transitory. The way he had hurt her, by favouring drugs over the ones who loved him, it seemed to be a permanent wound in their relationship.

He just needed to save the world once again, and then he would be ready for one of the most demanding challenge of his life: regaining Molly Hooper's trust, and a place in her life. It was only a question of time.

****Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams!** **


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